Fifty Shades to Larry Grey
by The Yankee Countess
Summary: Who is Larry Grey? A bully, a snob, a man who was once "sweet on Sybil", and who can't stand that she married "beneath" her. But how did he come to be like this? A story that tries to explore S/T's favorite villain (rated T for potential dark subject matter)
1. First Meeting

_So this has been an idea that I've had ever since first "meeting" the character of Larry Grey in 3x01. I *love* the fact that we Sybil/Tom shippers have *TWO* "villains" (Larry and Edna) for our oh-so-awesome couple to overcome in a variety of AU ideas, however, when it comes to villains, I always like to understand *why* they are the way they are; what drove them to be like that? Basically, I like layers and depth to any character I read, but especially to villains, and so that's the point of this lil' story; to try and understand who and what Larry Grey is. _

_This fic will be 50 Drabbles (and for me, a drabble is less than 500 words). Sometimes the story will be linear, other times it won't be. Also, this story has potential to become *very* dark in some moments, so just be prepared (I'll give fair warning; but that's why for now, I'm rating it "T"). All in all, this *is* ultimately a Sybil/Tom love story, but they will be more like background characters. This story is also AU, in the sense that we will see Larry not only interacting with Sybil as she grows up, but also see him interacting with Tom *before* the infamous dinner in 3x01, as well as after._

_Anyway, I hope you find it interesting! I apologize for the title, I just couldn't resist :oP But I hope you find this interesting, this "exploration" into the character of Larry Grey; a villain, I think, who had great potential if he had been given half the chance._

* * *

**Fifty Shades to Larry Grey  
by Yankee Countess**

_**First Meeting…  
**June, 1896_

He hates coming to this place. He doesn't understand why he has to go. His father is Mary's—_Lady Mary,_ as his mother reminds him—godfather, so why does _he_ have to go?

"It is expected," his father attempts to explain, but what does that exactly mean to a six year old boy?

"It is the polite thing to do," his mother tries to explain as she once again fusses over his suit. He's still confused.

Lady Mary has a new baby sister. Today is her christening, which makes it all the more worse, because it means he is being forced to go to Downton Abbey _and_ church. He would much rather be back home, playing with the other boys, pretending they're English soldiers hunting the rebellious Boers. But no, he is stuck here, at Downton, surrounded by stupid girls, and all because of a stupid baby—_also_ a girl.

His father hisses one final warning in his ear as they disembark their carriage. Lord and Lady Grantham are standing in front of the house, and standing just beyond them are Ladies Mary and Edith. Why are they called Ladies? Mary is one year younger than him, and Edith is barely four?

He puts on the smile his father told him to wear and bows politely to Lady Grantham, congratulating her as he was told to do, and stands still while Lord Grantham leans forward and ruffles his hair. They are smiling and telling his parents how handsome he is, that he's gotten taller since they last saw him, and how he's quite the little gentleman. Even though they are speaking about him, it's his father who seems to be taking all the credit.

Mary approaches him then, with Edith standing close behind, looking nervous. "Hello, Larry," she says with a curtsey. He tries not to groan while he bows.

Someone, he thinks Lady Grantham, tells them to run along while they take tea in the drawing room. Mary decides then to take him to meet her sister, the stupid baby that all this fuss is about. He follows Mary to the nursery, not bothering to wait for Edith who starts to cry because she can't keep up.

"Ssshh!" Mary hisses, upon arriving. "She's sleeping!" She then points to the bassinette, looking very proud. "This is my sister, Sybil."

Larry makes a face when he sees her. She has a thick head of dark curls. Her cheeks are very pink. She's sucking on her fist. She smells awful.

She opens her eyes then. They're blue—_very_ blue.

Blue is his favorite color.

She stares at him for a moment, her eyes getting bigger. He doesn't know why, but he wants to hold her. He's tempted to pick her up.

That's when she lets out a shriek.

"You made her cry!" Mary accuses.

He frowns and glares at Mary, then back at the baby.

He leaves then, hoping he never sees the baby again.

* * *

_I know there is some debate in the fandom as to when Sybil was born/how old she was on the show, etc. Doesn't help that *every* season of DA there's been something to contradict the previous season's statement. So I'm going with S1; Sybil was born in 1896 which would have made her 18 in 1914 for her coming out season, and I'm saying her birthday was in early June, so she was "newly" 18 when she went to London._

_As far as I'm aware, it's never said how old Larry is, but I decided to make him and Tom roughly the same age (born in 1890)._


	2. It's Not Fair

_Thanks for the reviews! I already have a few drabble chapters for this in mind. Right now, we're still in the "innocence of childhood youth" phase. Every so often, if a drabble idea comes to me, I'll write it down. If you have ideas or if there are some scenes you'd be interested in possibly seeing, let me know! I won't make any promises that I'll write them all, but I'm interested in hearing what you think :o) Anyway, thanks again for reading._

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_**It's Not Fair  
**__January, 1897_

He does see her again, of course. His parents have been invited to Downton for the annual New Year's hunt that Lord Grantham holds on New Year's Day. He would much rather go out with the other men than stay behind, but he's far too young, or so his mother tells him.

He watches with a frown as his father, and the other gentlemen who are attending, laugh and joke, passing brandy around in silver flasks, while showing off their latest guns or dogs. It's not fair.

"One day I will be a great hunter," Mary announces with her nose in the air. "I will shoot more birds than any man!"

"Me too! Me too!" Edith insists, but she insists on anything Mary says. Girls are stupid.

At least he's not the only boy. Patrick is there. But Patrick can be extremely dull. One day Patrick might be the Earl of Grantham, or that's what he's heard. Because of this, Patrick _has_ to play with Mary and Edith whenever he visits, or at least that's what he tells Larry.

"Let's play hide and seek!" Patrick exclaims, trying to sound "diplomatic"—whatever that means.

Edith claps her hands at the idea. Mary rolls her eyes and mutters something about how Edith always gives other people who are hiding away.

"I don't want to play your stupid game!" he grumbles when Mary tries to tug on his hand. He leaves the room then, ignoring Patrick calling after him, and Mary shouting "you can't talk to the future Countess of Grantham like that!"

He finds solace in the only place he knows they would never go to look: the nursery.

He brings with him his new Christmas present: a case full of brightly painted toy soldiers. He'll play "War" all by himself.

_She's_ in the nursery, but that's where babies normally are. Nanny is nowhere to be seen when he enters.

She makes a noise, but it's not a screech. He goes over to her crib, and looks down at her; she's sitting up and staring at him, her blue eyes even larger and brighter than he remembers.

She smiles.

He stares back, a little surprised.

Her pudgy fist reaches out, her eyes locked on the toy soldier that he's holding in his hand. He's even more surprised with himself when he hands the toy to her. Maybe she'll smile again?

She holds the soldier and stares at it and laughs. Larry laughs too. Babies sound funny.

His laugh disappears when she stuffs the soldier into her mouth.

"NO!" he shouts, trying to get it back before she ruins it.

"Oi, what's going on? OH MY GOD!" screams Nanny as she rushes to the crib and yanks the toy out of Sybil's mouth.

Sybil starts crying. Nanny is yelling at him. Larry is upset that there's baby spit all over his toy.

Both of his parents reprimand him later. No one is interested in hearing his explanation.

He hates that baby.


	3. Disappointment

_TWO updates; I'm going to try and do multiple chapter updates with this story. Whatever comes to me I'll post basically :oP THANKS TO ALL THE FEEDBACK! Hope you continue to enjoy this trippy trip into Larry's psyche...but for those of you who are feeling conflicted cause you don't want to like him, don't worry ;o) he'll give you plenty of reasons not to._

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_**Disappointment  
**__July, 1897_

He thought she was simply getting fat. But then he finds out, sometime in the spring, that his mother is "expecting".

He doesn't understand, and his father turns red in the face, before muttering something to his mother about explaining what it all means. His mother doesn't explain, but leaves his governess to do it.

He's disgusted at the thought.

A baby? A baby _inside_ his mother's stomach?

How did this happen? He notices his governess turn red at the question, and instead gives him a book that explains it all. After just two pages, Larry is disgusted. He throws the book aside and spends the rest of week sulking at the prospect of having a baby in the house. A screaming baby, who will smell and eat his toys...

A baby like _her_.

They're in London when the time comes for the baby to be born. He hides in his room, not wanting to come out. He hides and he listens as he hears the sounds of doctors and nurses and servants, rushing back and forth across the carpeted corridor. Sometime in the middle of the night, he awakes to the sound of screaming.

A baby screaming.

Memories of when she screamed fill his mind. Memories of her scrunching her little pink face and fat tears dripping down her plump cheeks, resurface again.

He wonders if this baby will have blue eyes like hers.

A few hours later, a maid comes into his room, telling him to come and meet his new sister.

SISTER!

It would be a girl, wouldn't it? He's cursed with a sister, JUST LIKE HER. A sister of his own, who will scream and wail in the middle of the night, who will cry and smell and who will eventually eat his toys. And even though it will be her fault, he'll get all the blame, just like last time.

It's not fair. None of it is.

He does go and see his sister though, when his father demands that he make an appearance. Two maids, followed by his governess, bring him to the room. His mother is beaming and holding the baby, telling him to kiss his little sister. He would rather swallow his own toy soldiers.

What's worse is that now he's being told to act polite, as visitors begin calling on the house to offer their congratulations. Act polite and pretend that he's a proud big brother, when in truth, he feels the opposite.

Lord and Lady Grantham visit, along with Patrick and Mary. Edith is too young for London and remains at Downton. The same is true for Sybil.

Larry will never admit it, but he finds himself feeling disappointed at this revelation. Just as Mary had done with Sybil, he takes both her and Patrick to see his sister, while their families have tea.

"Sybil is prettier," he overhears Mary whisper to Patrick.

Larry will never admit it...but he agrees.


	4. Resentment

_And here is update #2 for the day! Posted this the same time I posted chapter 3, so if you haven't read that one, please go back and do so! Thanks!_

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_**Resentment  
**__January 1900_

Another New Year's celebration; another New Year's Day at Downton Abbey.

This one is special, according to his parents, because now it's a new century, and there are bound to be some great changes.

But whatever those changes are, they're not enough to convince his father to let him ride out with the hunters and shoot.

"You're not ten yet, Larry," his mother tries to explain when he demands to know why he must, once again, stay behind with the other children.

"But I will be turning ten this year!"

"Yes, so that means next year you can join the men," she tries to reason, but he doesn't want to hear her explanations. He doesn't want to wait.

"But Patrick is going!" he grumbles.

"Patrick _is_ ten," his mother answers, her voice becoming strained.

It's not fair. He's surrounded by girls, and there are no other boys besides Patrick. He hates this place and always has.

Suddenly there is a tug on his hand. He looks down and frowns, despite the wide blue eyes that gaze up at him.

"Play," her little voice insists, offering a toothy looking grin. "Play with me, Larry!"

"Yes, what a splendid idea!" his mother declares, but he knows she's saying this because she thinks he's been distracted by the present argument. "Yes, why don't you go and play with Sybil? Keep her and your sister entertained?"

Oh yes, that's exactly what he wants to do. He's nearly ten years old, he knows how to handle a gun, knows how to ride a horse, and yet because of some stupid rule Lord Grantham has, he's not allowed to participate in the New Year's hunt with the other men…but instead is encouraged to go and play—no, to "entertain" his stupid sister and the youngest Crawley daughter.

Who does his mother think he is? A clown?

Before he can argue, his mother is already walking away to join the other ladies who have gathered in the drawing room. Sybil is still tugging on his hand. "Play!" she insists, as if that's the only word she knows.

But he doesn't want to play with her. He doesn't want to have anything to do with her. He wants to be treated like a man, not a boy. And he resents Lord Grantham for his stupid rules, and he resents Patrick for being the "proper" age and allowed to go, and he resents his mother for insisting that he stay behind…

And now he resents her, for interrupting his argument with her stupid, toothy smile.

"Leave me alone!" he barks, before shoving her away.

Sybil stumbles back, and lands hard on her backside.

She stares up at him with wide, hurt eyes. Her lower lip is trembling, like she's going to cry.

But she doesn't.

Instead she rises to her feet, and runs away from him.

He still resents her. Only now he resents her for making him feel guilty.


	5. False Hero

_I'm still in awe by the feedback I'm receiving for this lil' project! Thank you so much! For anyone who still feels weird, because they find themselves *kinda* liking or sympathizing with Larry; I'm curious to know what you'll think of him after this chapter ;o)_

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_**False Hero  
**__August 1900_

Unlike his other trips to Downton, he actually likes the annual Garden Party, simply because there are more boys to play with. It's one of the few times when he doesn't have to worry about being left to play with the boring girls and their stupid dolls.

Upon arrival, he quickly gathers with the other boys, each grinning and wondering what game they'll begin first.

"Let's play War!" one of them declares.

"No..." another groans. "Because no one wants to play the Boers."

"War of the Roses, then!" Patrick declares. "That way everyone's English."

This seems to satisfy everyone. Patrick leads the House of York, while Larry convinces the boys to make him leader for Lancaster. Each "House" rallies to different corners of the garden, where they create battle plans and assign tasks as to who will defend their "castle" and who will serve as jailers, if they capture and take prisoners. Once their plans are completed, Larry decides to send his "army" out, spreading them far so that they can take Patrick and his York army by surprise. The game will continue until every last member of the opposite team is captured…or until the "leader" surrenders. Well, the leader can't surrender if the enemy doesn't know where he is! He intends to spend the entire game hiding.

That's when he sees her.

She's sitting in the shade of a tree, with several dolls seated around her. She's holding a book open, and acting as if she's a teacher reading to a group of students.

He can't help but watch. He also can't help but notice how she holds one particular doll very close.

And that's when the idea strikes him.

He retreats back to his "castle" and hisses for one of Lancaster's jailers to come with him. The boy follows Larry all the way back to the hiding place where he had first seen Sybil, and he points at her and commands, "Run over and grab her doll."

The boy looks at him with a horrified expression. But Larry is older, taller, and can be quite intimidating if he chooses, so he uses that power to make the boy do as he says. So with a reluctant sigh, the boy rises and runs to where Sybil is sitting…and before she even lifts her head at the oncoming footsteps, he's snatched up the doll and is running back while she screams in panic.

And that's Larry's cue. He leaps to his feet, shouts at the boy in anger, and then shoves him hard to the ground, before claiming Sybil's doll as his own. The boy looks confused; Larry never told him his entire plan.

He smiles down at Sybil as he holds the doll out for her. She's still sniffling as she takes it and hugs it to her chest.

He waits for her to thank him, but she never does.

This bothers him. Perhaps it's because "true thanks" is only reserved for "true heroes"?


	6. Partners

_I wanted to do something for Easter, so here is a special "Easter-themed" chapter. What I love about it is that it really starts to show the differences between the characters of Sybil and Larry. There's also a little introduction to another well known Downton character. Anyway, I dedicate this chapter to **Grey Ribbon**, author of "Star-Crossed Lovers" (which you should go and read if you haven't) and who is a big fan of this lil' story. HAPPY EASTER!_

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_**Partners  
**__April 1902_

It was Sybil's idea, he learns.

Her American grandmother came to visit, telling stories about certain holiday traditions that happen in America. She says that the American President has a big Easter egg hunt on the grounds of his house. The woman even brings postcards of the event to prove her story is true. Naturally, according Lady Grantham, this excited Sybil, and so here they are at Downton, on Easter Sunday, and all the children of the village are invited for a great big Easter egg hunt.

Mary sits next to the Dowager Countess and smiles like a queen watching her subjects from afar. She's too old for such "frivolities", or so she says.

Edith can't seem to make up her mind; clearly she wants to copy Mary, but at the same time she wants to play.

Sybil, however, is delighted, and upon arriving, runs up to his sister and grabs her by the hand. "Be my partner!" she exclaims, before dragging Mariah off to search for eggs.

His job was to help his sister, but now he's been freed of the burden. So he finds himself standing awkwardly off to the side, watching as these silly children run around like idiots over painted eggs of all things.

"So gracious of Lord and Lady Grantham to invite the children of their tenants to this festive occasion," he overhears someone murmur.

"Very magnanimous," another answers.

Larry can't understand why.

Just then a farm boy bumps into him in an attempt to grab an egg that's near the flowerbed where he's standing.

"Watch it!" he snaps at the boy, his nose wrinkling because the boy has a smell about him, that no matter how many baths he may have had before coming, still permeates his body. "Ugh, you smell like pig shit," he mutters in disgust.

The boy stumbles backward, swallowing nervously. He doesn't look to be much older than Sybil.

"William!"

Both he and the farm boy turn their heads to see the very girl approach, a big smile on her face. "William, how many have you found?" she asks, showing her basket off and beaming.

"Six," William mumbles.

Larry frowns. "Six, _milady_," he corrects, sending the farm boy a look of warning. This is the problem with allowing these tenant children to play with their betters; they forget their place!

Sybil frowns and he's surprised to see that she's frowning _at him!_ Why? What did he do?

"Come on, William," Sybil announces, turning on her heel and tugging the boy's arm, her dainty little nose in the air as she marches away with the farm boy in tow. "You can be my partner for the egg roll! Grandmama told me all about it, and it sounds like so much fun!"

His jaw clenches as he watches the two walk away.

He was prepared to be her partner if she needed one. He was hoping she would ask him.

But instead she asks _the farm boy?_

What's wrong with her?


	7. Seeds Are Planted

_The next two chapters will focus on answering the question as to why Larry referred to Tom as a "grubby little chauffeur" in 3x01. Granted, he's a complete snob and a big jerk, but I wanted to explore what may have brought him to that way of thinking-after all, prejudice isn't something people are born with, they learn it, so that is what this chapter, and the one that will follow it will try to explore. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE REVIEWS!_

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_**Seeds Are Planted  
**__July 1902_

He's never seen a dead body before. But he's looking at one now, lying gray and still, the lid to the coffin open so people may come and pay their respects.

He remembers receiving the telegram as if it were yesterday. His cousin Jonathon, who fought in the Boer War, who was a decorated soldier, who was hailed a hero by the British Army, was dead.

Dead…_from malaria._

He didn't even die valiantly on the field of battle, but in a hospital bed somewhere in South Africa. Larry isn't sure which part disgusts him more, the fact that his cousin, who in truth he idolized because he didn't have any brothers, died in such an inglorious manner, or that he died surrounded by dark savages and bastard Afrikaans.

At least that's what his father mutters, but that's good enough for him.

He vows to himself as he gazes at the dead body of his cousin that if he ever goes to war, he won't die like that. He won't die at all, but he'll kill plenty of enemies that try!

He finds himself hoping there will be a third Boer War so he can go to South Africa and have his chance at killing the savages, both white and black.

"Hello, Larry," he hears a voice speak behind him. He turns and stares in surprise at seeing her. She's there, her two sisters just behind her, and he sees behind them, Lord and Lady Grantham offering condolences to his aunt and uncle, who stand by his parents. His aunt is weeping, clearly embarrassing his uncle with her blubbering, but really, what can be expected? She's a woman.

"Larry?" Sybil murmurs, and he looks down at her once again. "I'm very sorry."

He stiffens at her words and feels his jaw tighten.

He's sorry too; sorry that his cousin is dead before he could come back and tell him all about his adventures in Africa, the stories behind his medals, the details about the enemy that he punished and humiliated. Yes, he truly wishes he could hear those stories right now.

It's embarrassing, the way his cousin died. Soldiers aren't supposed to die from disease—soldiers are supposed to be strong, _especially_ British soldiers!

Larry always wanted to be a soldier. But now he's not so sure; and he blames his cousin's death for that.

No, no, he blames the grubby foreigners for that. They took his cousin from him with their filthy lifestyle and diseases.

He gasps when he looks down and realizes that she's touching his hand.

He yanks it away from her as if it were a hot coal.

"It's alright to be sad, Larry," she murmurs in a voice that is well beyond her years. "Mary told me she was sad when my grandfather died."

"I'm not sad!" he lies.

Mary puts her hands around her Sybil's shoulders. "Let's leave Larry alone," she whispers. Good advice.

No, he's not sad. He's _more_ than sad.

He's angry.

* * *

_I didn't know much about the Boer War, including the fact that it was TWO wars, the first being from 1880-1881 and the second from 1899-1902. I'm not sure if it was ever mentioned in show which of the two Robert fought in. I also don't know if we ever learned how many siblings Larry had (not that it was an important part of the episode) so I decided to write it where he has no brothers, hence why he idolized his cousin. I apologize if the words I used to describe Larry's inner thoughts about "foreigners" offended anyone; I hope you understand that I wanted to express the prejudice he was feeling and how that would taint his view on people who were different from himself._


	8. Seeds Take Root

_I promised a quick follow up to the last chapter, so here it is! Chapters 7 & 8 really do go hand in hand, in trying to understand and explain where Larry's prejudices may have come from, and how horrible they can grow if left unchecked. This is going to be one of the rare times in this story where Sybil (or Tom for that matter) aren't featured or mentioned. Basically, this is an entirely "All Larry" chapter, and a few more like it will pop up now and then, but Sybil and Tom will always have a part to play somewhere in the back of his mind, especially as things progress. _

_Also, in case you're curious, Tom will start showing up once we get into the "teens" chapters at some point. This story is AU and will change a few timeline things from the show (not that I think people mind) ;o) Anyway, thanks again for reading!_

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_**Seeds Take Root  
**__May 1903_

Every year there is a polo match at his school. For the past six years, their rivals have held the prestigious cup. Now at thirteen, Larry is determined to lead them all to victory and take the cup back.

Mr. Galway is the chief groom at the stables. He has a son, a dirty little thing who stares vaguely into the distance, and who hardly speaks. _"Simple minded"_ is what he overhears a teacher say. Larry is shocked to learn that the boy is an entire year older than himself. He belongs in an institution, not at an esteemed place like this!

The boy is given the job of wiping down the horses, brushing their coats, and polishing the saddles. Larry has seen him doing these things on several occasions when he comes to the stables to practice. He wrinkles his nose in disgust, both at the smell of the place, and as he overhears Mr. Galway speak to his son in some strange language that sounds like a bunch of gibberish. No wonder the boy is so stupid! He can't even speak proper English!

A new stallion has been acquired, and all the other boys stare in awe at it. It's large, brown, and surely the tallest one there. It's also the surliest, and begins bucking whenever someone gets too close to it.

Mr. Galway seems to be the only person who can calm the beast. Him and his son.

But Larry is determined. This will be the horse he rides in the polo match. This will be the horse that will lead him to victory and bring glory back his school. His father was a polo champion once. Maybe then, he'll finally be "good enough"?

The horse seems to have calmed a bit in the days leading to the match. Now is the perfect time to ride it. He brags to all his friends that he'll master that horse, and they laugh and make bets that he'll fall on his arse.

When he marches to the stables (with his minions in tow) Mr. Galway is nowhere to be found.

But his son is there.

"Give me that horse!" he orders, pointing at the brown stallion.

The boy shakes his head, that same vague stupid expression on his face.

"Are you disobeying me?" he growls. Bloody foreigners; if they can't understand English why are they allowed to work here?

Someone behind him snickers. He grounds his teeth, pushes past Mr. Galway's son, taking the saddle from his hands and placing it on the stallion's back.

The horse rears up, startling Larry; startling everyone.

He jumps away before a hoof can hit him.

He loses his balance and tumbles backward, right into a steamy pile of manure.

Everyone laughs, including Mr. Galway's son.

His face burns with humiliation.

He goes at once to the headmaster, and threatens to write to his father if something isn't done.

On the day of the polo match, sitting proud atop his horse, Larry sees Mr. Galway and his simple son leaving.

He smiles. Even if they don't win, he feels victorious.


	9. A Decent Hit

_Thanks again for the reviews! Who knew that people would find Larry an interesting character to read about? :oP This chapter is a little more Sybil, and foreshadowing what she is to become ;o) for any girls who love sports, I'm sure you've all encountered someone like Larry in your life-this is for YOU!_

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_**A**__** Decent Hit  
**__August 1905_

As much as he enjoys riding and playing polo, Larry's discovered that cricket is his best game.

Every summer Downton has an annual cricket match between the House and the Village. Lord Grantham has heard how accomplished Larry has become (at least his father will sing praises about his accomplishments in athletics), and has invited him to come and play for the House team.

No other boy has ever been invited to play for the House team before; not even Patrick! He can't help but feel proud for this accomplishment. He can't help but feel that finally, he's being treated as a man.

Mary sits between her mother and grandmother, daintily sipping her tea while the men warm up on the pitch.

Patrick will also be playing for the first time, but judging from the way he swings his bat, Larry can tell he's not very good.

He can't deny it; this does make him happy.

Edith has gotten away from her sister and mother; she's sitting on the grass, looking adoringly up at Patrick, clapping enthusiastically when he swings his bat, even if he doesn't hit anything. Larry rolls his eyes.

But it's Sybil who catches his attention.

She's only nine, but she's grown quite a bit since he last saw her.

Unlike her sisters, she's a bit tanner, and her legs and arms seem a bit longer, certainly not as "dainty" as Mary or Edith. He watches from a distance as she runs around a patch of grass, chasing a puppy called Pharaoh.

"Patrick!" she cries at one point, her face bright and her smile wide. Larry watches as she rushes forward to claim the bat her cousin is holding. "Bowl to me?"

"Sybil, don't be rude and interrupt Patrick's practicing!" Edith snaps.

"It's alright," Patrick reassures. He takes the ball Sybil was using to play with the puppy, and Larry watches as Patrick bowls it to the nine-year-old.

There's nothing "dainty" or "gentle" about the throw.

Nor is there anything dainty or gentle about her hit.

A gasp escapes his throat as he stares, stunned, at the distance the ball soars. An elated squeal erupts from Sybil's lungs, and she rushes towards her cousin, triumph and jubilation on her face.

Patrick grins and pats Sybil on the shoulder. Edith pouts.

"Maybe you should take my spot?" he suggests. Patrick then turns to Larry and grins. "What do you think, Grey?"

Larry can't get over how well Sybil hit that ball. In fact, if truth be told…her hit was better than anything he's ever done!

"It was decent," he says, before adding, "for a _girl_."

He's trying to hide his embarrassment. He hopes his father didn't see; that's the last thing he needs—being compared to a girl. And not just any girl, but a _CHILD!_

Sybil's proud smile disappears.

"That was a decent hit for ANYONE—boy _or_ girl!" she angrily proclaims.

She stomps away, fuming.

During the game, whenever he's at bat, he hears her cheering for the Village.

* * *

_Also, because there are questions about the ages of the characters as the chapters progress, here are the birth years:_

_Patrick-November 1889 (15 in this chapter)_  
_Larry-February 1890 (15 in 1905)...same age as Tom (his birthday is in May)_  
_Mary-1892 (13 in 1905)_  
_Edith-1894 (11 in 1905)_  
_Sybil-June 1896 (9 in 1905)_

_All these ages are *my* headcanon, although we roughly know the birth years of Tom and the sisters (although Fellowes doesn't seem to be able to make up his mind when Sybil was born); I say 1896 simply because her debut season was in 1914, when she would have been 18._


	10. Practically a Man

_Once again, thanks to everyone for the positive feedback! I'm glad people are enjoying this journey into the jerkish psyche that is Larry Grey :oP This particular chapter was difficult to write, just because I wanted to confront a topic that I thought "certain boys" talk about (and I'm sure we're all familiar sadly, in some way, of such conversations happening) and it struck me as something that Larry would think/talk about. I kept rewriting this chapter because I wasn't sure how *dark* to take it, and I think I found the right balance in the end. Anyway, hope despite the subject matter, you enjoy!_

* * *

_**Practically a Man  
**__April 1906_

He's sixteen now, "practically a man" his father declares on the morning of his birthday. Larry can't help but frown at this. _Practically? _He's a star cricket player, the best rider at his school, and one of the most popular boys. No one would dare cross his path or say anything negative about his family. If that doesn't make him a man, what does?

Well, perhaps the one thing so many of his schoolmates brag about, but in truth, he has yet to experience.

The stories are always the same.

"_She's a milkmaid on my father's property…"_

"_A pretty upstairs housemaid…"_

"_She has the biggest tits you've ever seen!"_

"_She says I can put it _anywhere_!"_

They're all rubbish of course; they have to be. There's no way any of these tossers have all these girls lined up with their legs spread and aching, _before_ him. It's just not possible.

It's during the Easter holidays, when his family is once again visiting Downton, that Larry finds himself wondering if Patrick has had these experiences.

Patrick is considered to be quite handsome. He has dark brown hair, dark blue eyes; Patrick is the same height as himself, but with a bit more muscle. The girls do seem to swoon whenever he passes, and Edith follows him like a lovesick puppy.

He feels his jaw clench at the thought.

Patrick probably has no problem. _"He's so handsome! He's so charming_!" the young housemaids murmur, pausing to admire Patrick's physique, rather than doing their jobs.

Bastard. They would lie down and offer themselves to him if he just gave them a wink! It's not fair.

But there is this one housemaid that's been looking at _him_, he's noticed.

She's not very pretty. She's a big girl too. But it _is_ him she's eyeing and not Patrick.

"Who's that maid?" he asks Patrick at one point. Patrick knows all the servants; he's going to the earl one day, after all.

"Liza," he answers. "She started at Christmas."

"She seems keen…"

He's clearly surprised the future Earl of Grantham, because Patrick nearly spits his punch everywhere.

"You're not serious?"

"Why not?" Larry looks smug. "I haven't had any since the Christmas holidays," he lies.

Patrick laughs. "Are you _that_ desperate?"

Larry frowns, but swallows his retort. "I bet she's good with her mouth."

"Ugh, that's disgusting!" But Larry can tell that Patrick is intrigued.

"What are you talking about?"

They both jump at the sound of her voice. Why isn't she playing with the other misfits?

"Nothing, Sybil," Patrick lies.

But she doesn't believe them. "Are you making fun of Liza?" She looks angry, and her hands are on her hips. "You should treat women with respect!"

Why is she so self-righteous? "She's just a housemaid."

"She's a person!" Sybil proclaims. "And all people, men and women, employer and employee, deserve respect!"

Larry turns away and rolls his eyes. "Where does your cousin get these ideas?"

Patrick shrugs. "She's just being Sybil."


	11. Man to Man

_HAHAHAHAHAHA I wrote another one :oP I couldn't help myself, the idea came to me and I wanted to leap on it. Now we'll start to see a change in Larry, an "interest" in a certain person that one could argue existed before now, but now it will start to take a particular turn, one that might make you squirm with discomfort (just to warn you). I won't say anything further, just post it and let you read. THANKS FOR THE FEEDBACK! If you didn't get a chance to read chapter 10 (I posted it very late last night) please give it a read too!_

* * *

_**Man to Man  
**__July 1908_

It's the summer before he leaves for Cambridge. Both he and Patrick will be going, and Lord Grantham insists on throwing a celebration for them both. The dinner was grand, the wine was sweet, and now he and Patrick are enjoying cigars and brandy, just like "real men", as his father chuckles.

Their fathers, along with Lord Grantham, sit in the dining room and discuss politics, while the two of them excuse themselves for a game of billiards; Patrick isn't ready to rejoin the ladies, which is fine with him. What would they talk about anyway? No doubt Edith would continue making cow eyes at Patrick; surely he must be aware. She's not ugly, Edith, but she's not a striking beauty the way Mary is.

"What do you think of Mary?"

Larry is surprised by this question, considering he was just thinking about her. "What do you mean?"

"She is beautiful," Patrick continues, ignoring Larry's question. "Beautiful and graceful and very sophisticated, even at sixteen," he sends a ball into the corner pocket. "Father says she will make a fine countess."

Larry's eyes widen and he nearly coughs on his cigar. _"You and Mary?"_

Patrick simply nods. "It makes sense, I suppose," he murmurs as he sets up another shot. "I never gave it much thought, really. I like her, and she is lovely…"

Larry senses a but.

"But it would be strange; my cousin being my wife."

Larry shakes his head. In his opinion they're far too young to be thinking about marriage; good God they haven't gone away to Cambridge yet!

"Would you marry her, Larry, if you had the opportunity?"

He's startled by this question. He agrees that Mary is beautiful, but he's never thought of her in _that way _before. In all honesty, he can't imagine a girl like her being "warm company" in bed. Not now that he has finally "become a man", thanks to a kitchen maid back at school.

His mind wanders then to another member of the Crawley family.

Sybil is twelve now. But she looks older, just as she did when she was a child—STILL is a child, he reminds himself, but a _younger_ child.

But she's growing faster than he realized. She looks…lush…and curvy. She's the same height as Edith, but unlike her sister, has a fuller chest.

Yes, he was surprised when he first saw Sybil again. And even more surprised to be reminded that she's _only_ twelve! _Only twelve and has breasts like _that_ already!_

"Well?"

He's brought out of his thoughts and sees that Patrick is waiting for an answer.

"Would you marry her?" he asks again.

"Perhaps," Larry murmurs, honestly. But in truth he's not thinking of Mary Crawley.

But he _is_ thinking of a Crawley sister.

And he's troubled.

She's just a child. And she's annoying.

But she is pretty.

And buxom. Or will become buxom with time, if she continues growing as she has so far.

"Your shot, Grey."


	12. Envious

_Thanks again for all the reviews and follows! Just a quick note; I'm not sure what the "expectations" would have been for the son of nobility at a university, so I simply decided to try and write what I thought they would be like for *anyone* who goes to college-the expectation that you do well. Anyway, hope you enjoy. More to follow soon!_

* * *

_**Envious  
**__December 1908_

Christmas at last, which means a break from the hard-nosed professors and instructors he has been forced to endure ever since he began at Cambridge.

Nothing has prepared him for this.

Everything was so easy in the past; governesses, tutors, the school his father sent him to, all of those things were simpler, his studies didn't matter! One look, one word, one threat from him was enough to make all of them leave him alone and let him be, sending positive letters to his father about what a wonderful student he was.

But University is nothing like that.

Here he is one of many; the name "Grey" or "Merton" has very little sway, certainly when compared to other men who come from wealthier families or who are set to inherit dukedoms. Men who, like him, come from privilege, so they are not so impressed by his background as they come from one just like it.

Or above it.

But it's the professors who are the worst. Apparently is work is not "good enough", and his father has already written to him once about his "concern" for his "lack of enthusiasm" when it comes to his studies.

It doesn't help that Patrick excels in his work. But Patrick has always excelled, and this is made even more evident as he sits at the table and listens to his father read a letter out loud from Patrick's father, talking about all the accomplishments he has completed so far, how he has even managed to win a prime spot on the rowing team! And even though his father never says it…Larry can't help but hear his father screaming underneath all those words, _"why can't you be more like Patrick Crawley? Why can't HE be my son?"_

His father then proceeds to tell him about a letter he's received from Lord Grantham, about his daughters, how each and every one of them are excelling in their studies. Of course, being girls and being younger, their studies are nowhere near as taxing or important as his own, which just rubs salt further into the wound on his ego, because he knows, once again, that his father is basically saying that he can't even measure up to a silly simple-minded teenage girl.

"Sybil can't stand her governess," his sister pipes up from her side of the table.

"What?" his father is momentarily distracted by Mariah's sudden interruption.

"Sybil says all her governess is good for is teaching one how to curtsey or speak bad French."

"Oh my," his mother murmurs, before coughing into her napkin.

"Sybil wishes her governess were more like Jane Eyre; she was clever, or so Sybil's told me. I've never read the book," Mariah concludes before focusing once again on her dinner.

Larry snorts and rolls his eyes. "Well Sybil doesn't go to Cambridge, does she?"

"She wishes she could," Mariah decides to add. "She told me she envies you, Larry."

"It's Patrick she should envy," his father mutters.

It's a miserable Christmas.


	13. Freedom

_Surprise! The muse struck again, so here is another quick update! That being said, if you haven't read chapter 12, which was posted the other day, please make sure you do so! I must also confess that I had a good giggle at the amount of people who said they felt conflicted for feeling sorry for Larry. Well, your attitude might change a bit after this chapter ;o) THANKS AGAIN FOR READING AND REVIEWING! I appreciate them very much!_

* * *

_**Freedom  
**__May 1909_

"My last season of freedom…" Patrick murmurs before taking a drink from his brandy glass.

"What?" Larry asks, withdrawing the cigar from his lips and looking at the future Earl of Grantham through the haze of smoke.

Patrick sighs and sets his glass down. "Next year everything will change; Mary will be eighteen and will officially be 'out' in Society…and thus it will all begin."

Normally Larry envies Patrick, but this isn't one of those moments.

"So it's settled then?"

Patrick simply nods. "It was always settled; even if Cousin Robert did have a son, it was always the desire between our families that the two of us would marry."

"So…just like that, next season you'll be engaged?"

Patrick shakes his head. "Not quite; next season our courtship will 'officially' begin. Nothing will be announced until I finish at Cambridge; and until she turns twenty-one." He takes a long swallow from his brandy glass, then leans his head back and closes his eyes, like a prisoner resigned to his fate.

A moment of silence passes as Larry absorbs the information Patrick has given him. "You're right; this _is_ your last season of freedom."

They both chuckle as Larry lifts his glass in a mock toast.

"What about you, Grey?" Patrick asks. "Has your father tried to pawn you off onto someone?"

Larry groans, remembering the way his parents have sung the praises of the Honorable Miss Louisa Belmont in his ears. She's a chubby, freckled thing that wears spectacles; hardly his type.

"Edith is pretty," Patrick mentions out of nowhere.

Larry stares at him as if he's gone mad. "You can't be serious."

Patrick laughs. "She is! I know she's young—fifteen, and a little shy, but she shouldn't be dismissed because she's not as 'striking' as Mary."

Larry shakes his head before lifting his glass to take a drink. "She does have a decent pair of tits, I suppose."

Now it's Patrick who groans. "I wish you wouldn't talk about her like that; Edith really is sweet and deserves more respect than I fear Cousins Robert and Cora give her."

Since when was Patrick a defender of Edith? Didn't she annoy him when they were younger, the way she always clung to his shadow?

"Good evening gentlemen!" they are greeted by a sultry voice.

Larry smiles and rises to his feet, while Patrick looks rather bashful. "Good evening Madame Vivian," he glances at Patrick and winks. "This is my friend's last season of freedom; I'm thinking…someone blonde, petite, voluptuous…" Basically the opposite of Mary Crawley.

The brothel madam smiles. "I think I have just the girl…if you will follow me?"

Patrick glances at Larry one last time, giving a sheepish smile, before disappearing behind some velvet curtains.

Within a few minutes Madame Vivian returns. "And you, sir?"

Larry is silent for a moment. "A buxom brunette," before quickly adding, "and young!"

"Young?" she asks with the lift of a painted brow. "_How_ young?"

"How young do you have?"


	14. She Walks in Beauty

_Thanks again as always for reading and reviewing! I cannot deny, I got such a hoot out of some of the reviews y'all left with the last chapter :oP Larry is fun to write ;o) but villains usually are! Anyway, here's the next installment; in my headcanon, I always imagined Sybil being an early developer, but I also imagined her having not the most pleasant experience when it came to going through puberty. You'll see what I mean, in a sense. Thanks again for reading!_

* * *

_**She Walks in Beauty  
**__August 1909_

Gone is the buxom beauty he saw developing last summer.

Well, that's not entirely true, she's still quite buxom actually; the only problem is that _other parts_ of her have grown as well. Her waist is nowhere near as slender as her sisters. Granted, she's only thirteen, but his mother has always said that _"it's never too early for a girl to start wearing a corset!"_ He finds himself nodding in agreement.

Yes, Sybil is a little fuller now. Fuller breasts, but also fuller hips, thighs, and middle too. That's not all. She's spotty. She seems to "perspire" much more than a girl should, and her flushed face betrays her, revealing several ugly, red spots along her brow, chin, and jawline.

Indeed; the changes a girl must go through to become a woman, have not been kind, and Larry finds himself wondering whatever had possessed him to find her beautiful in the first place?

_Not that it matters,_ he tells himself as he sips his lemonade. _She's far too young anyway…_

It's just _another_ typical Downton garden party. Lord Grantham is introducing Patrick to other guests, laughing and smiling and slapping Patrick on the shoulder as if the younger man were his son. But he's not; he's simply the future Earl.

Larry pulls out a flask that he's been keeping hidden in his pocket and pours some of its contents into his lemonade. He notices how his own father is also beaming at Patrick, nodding his head to every compliment Lord Grantham declares.

He doesn't even bother with putting the flask away; he takes a good long swig from it before turning from the display of "old man wanking", as his father and Lord G fawn over the future earl.

Edith is hovering nearby too, the only girl in the small crowd. The way she gazes up at Patrick as if he were a gift from heaven causes Larry's eyes to roll. He takes another swig before finally stuffing the flask back into his pocket.

Mary is elsewhere, no doubt doing her own duty as future countess by playing hostess with Lady Grantham.

His eyes wander back to Sybil who is sitting on a stone bench in the shade of a tree, her spotty nose buried in a book. Such a pity; but she might as well enlighten her mind, since her looks will be no good to her.

A pretty blonde, who looks to be Sybil's age, runs up to join her. She's dainty and giggling and she blushes when she catches his eye. Sybil looks up from her book briefly to scold the girl. "Hush, Imogen!"

"What are you reading?"

"Lord Byron," Sybil answers, her eyes already back on the page.

Imogen's eyes have moved as well. She blushes again when she looks at him.

She's fair and slender, and there's not one spot on her face. She has the desired waist, but hardly any breasts.

_Ah well, you can't have everything,_ he thinks as he drinks his "improved" lemonade.


	15. Standing Out

_Sorry for the delay in updates! But I think I'm going to dedicate a good portion of this weekend in updating this fic, especially since we're getting closer and closer to a certain Irishman's debut ;o) BUT in the meantime, THANK YOU ALL for your continued support and reviews-they are so much fun to read, especially as you all share with me your love of hating this character ;o) :oP can't deny, it is fun to write a villain! I'm dedicating this chapter to the lovely **darlingsybil (aka GreyRibbon)** as a thank you for the NEW beautiful cover art for this fic, as well as wishing her the very best as she dedicates her time to essay writing (and we all know how much more fun fanfic writing can be!). THANKS FOR READING!_

* * *

_**Standing Out  
**__June 1910_

Another season.

At least that's what it is to him. He knows it's something quite different for Patrick.

Lady Mary Crawley, eldest daughter to the Earl of Grantham is eighteen, and thus is making her official debut this season.

She is not without her admirers. Indeed, Larry would swear there's a queue half-way down the street with hopes of catching a glimpse of the lovely young lady, as well as perhaps winning the opportunity to dance with her.

How disappointed they will all be when they see her whisked around the ballroom by Patrick. Lord, how he wishes someone would whisk away the girl on his arm.

The Honorable Miss Louisa Belmont is with him this evening. There was no way of getting around it, no matter how desperately he tried. _"You will escort Miss Belmont to Lady Mary's ball and that is final!"_ his father had thundered at him, before muttering something about how Patrick would never cause this sort of fuss.

No, Patrick wouldn't.

Patrick will accept his fate without even bothering to put up a fight. As much as Larry loathes Patrick Crawley sometimes, especially when his own father can do nothing but sing his praises, there are times when he can't help but smirk with pride at himself. Patrick will always do what is believed to be "right" and "honorable", even if it will make him miserable.

_Thank God I'm nothing like that!_ Larry thinks to himself. He may find himself being "forced" to escort Miss Belmont to tonight's ball, but by no means will he propose to the wench, no matter how much huffing and puffing his father attempts.

Thankfully, Miss Belmont loosens her grip from his arm and rushes over to talk with some people she knows. Larry groans a sigh of relief.

He watches as Patrick leads Mary into a waltz, and he can't help but laugh at the sight of two of them; so stiff-backed, so rigid, neither one of them smiling, neither one of them making eye contact!

_A match made in hell_, he thinks to himself.

He glances off to the side of the room and is surprised to see Edith, sitting next to the Dowager Countess. She's only sixteen, and yet she's here! Too young to dance, however—perhaps Lord and Lady Grantham were hoping she would pick up some pointers from her sister? He can't help but chuckle at the sour expression she wears as she watches Patrick dance with Mary.

A sudden flash of blue catches his eye.

He turns his head and his eyes widen at the sight of…Sybil?

She's there…and she's standing off to the side, pretending to dance! No, not pretending—_actually dancing!_

By herself.

She practices a curtsey, and then puts her chubby arms around an invisible partner and begins to mimic the other dancers in the room.

She's smiling. She's laughing. She's not even dancing with anyone, but she doesn't even seem to care!

She's in a world all to herself. And she's happy.

Perhaps Patrick is the wrong Crawley to envy?


	16. Shadow

_As promised, here's another quick update (I even think I'll have another chapter up sometime later today!) but for right now, here's a bit of foreshadowing..._

_THANKS AGAIN for all the comments and for reading!_

* * *

_**Shadow  
**__September 1910_

He has a shadow now, much like Patrick once had with Edith.

The pretty blonde that he saw last summer at the Downton garden party, the one he saw speaking with Sybil. He saw her at last month's garden party again; she's grown a bit, (still lacks a pretty bosom) but she's fair, that cannot be denied. They met eyes at one point and she smiled, before bursting into a fit of giggles and blushing like a strawberry.

He likes strawberries.

They didn't speak, nor do they speak now. Now is the annual cricket match, and he's far too focused on the game at hand. Still, he's very much aware that she watches him with her eyes. And whenever he does something during the game, he hears her cheering. And when he moves across the pitch, or walks to the small tent that is set up to refresh himself on some lemonade, she also rises from her spot on the grass and follows him.

She's far too young, of course. But still, it's flattering to have an admirer.

…If only she were the admirer he wanted.

He glances again at the spot where she's sitting. She grins back at him and even lifts her hand to wave. But her face isn't the one he's focused on, but the girl by her side, whose face is once again buried in a book.

How can she waste her time reading? And at a cricket match of all things?

It bothers him that she doesn't cheer. It bothers him that she doesn't even look up from her book when he's at play.

Stupid Sybil and her stupid books. What is she filling her head with this time?

At the garden party she was reading a newspaper—a newspaper! He overheard her little blonde friend ask her why in heavens name she was reading that?

"_Why not?"_ had been her response. _"Aren't you curious about what goes on in the world? About what's happening in London?" _

She didn't mean the latest gossip. Or what fashions were popular. No, it's much, much worse than that.

_Politics._

Larry makes a face at the thought.

Politics! Why on earth is a fourteen-year-old girl interesting in politics? It's not like she can vote or hold office! It's pointless and stupid and for some reason, it really, really bothers him.

_A woman's duty is to the comfort of her husband,_ he thinks. _No wife of mine will waste her time on such nonsense._

He frowns; both at the idea of his future bride reading a newspaper…and the idea that this thought always seems to pop up whenever he thinks about Sybil.

She's still spotty. And chubby. And her skin is far too tan. She really shouldn't be allowed to spend so much time outdoors.

He glances again at her friend and sighs. Why can't Sybil be more like—oh God, what's her name again?

Why can't Sybil be more like his little shadow?

…And why can't his little shadow be more like Sybil?


	17. Green Eyed Monster

_I confess, one of the joys I get out of writing this story is playing around with the varying levels of "villainy" that is Larry Grey ;o) And I must confess, this chapter is one of my favorites in showing that villainy, because it's subtle-but it packs a wallop, and I think many of us can think to some moment where we find ourselves in Sybil's shoes, as you will soon see-and if you didn't like Larry before, I think this will just increase that dislike ;o) :oP OH! And I think you'll be happy about the foreshadowing in this chapter._

_One more thing (if it wasn't clear) this story *is* AU, meaning it will not follow *all* of the events that happened on the show's canon (i.e. Larry will meet Tom long before the events of 3x01). This also means that "other" characters will encounter Larry too, as you will soon see. Anyway, I promised another quick update, here it is, hope you enjoy! I cannot deny, I'm very much looking forward to the comments on this one ;o) *rubbing hands together*_

* * *

_**Green-Eyed Monster  
**__January 1911_

There's a new face at Downton's New Year's party.

Tom Bellasis.

He doesn't like him.

The boy (yes, _boy_) is barely eighteen; he hasn't even gone to university yet! But everyone goes on and on about how "he's so clever and witty". Larry's mother uses the word "charming!" to describe him.

…And there's his sister, who can't stop going on and on about how "handsome" she thinks he is.

Even Patrick seems to be under this Tom Bellasis' spell! "You should really talk to him, Grey! We rode next to each other during the hunt; splendid chap!"

But he doesn't want to get to know him. He doesn't want to have anything to do with Tom Bellasis, thank you very much. And he wishes everyone would simply shut up.

He discovers later that this Mr. Bellasis is the cousin to his little shadow. So it's _her_ he has to blame.

"Do you think he'll be visiting every year?" he overhears Mariah ask. He's tempted to tell her he doesn't give a damn. "I hope so…" Mariah sighs dreamily. "It will make the visits here worthwhile."

Yes, even now at the end of the day, while they are all gathered around for a grand dinner, people will not stop their flattery.

Not even Sybil.

He glances down the table to where she's sitting, just a few chairs away, next to his little shadow with Mr. Bellasis directly across from her. She's laughing at something the boy has said. He can't help but grip the edges of the table.

Throughout the entire meal he watches them. Bellasis says something, and all the women begin to titter, including Sybil.

_His_ Sybil.

He's never felt more possessive of her as he does tonight.

For dessert, there is a special pudding, much like the sort they would have at Christmas. Sybil grins as the pudding is passed, "confessing" to Bellasis that it's her favorite. He doesn't hear what the boy says, but whatever it is, it makes Sybil blush.

_BLUSH!_

He can't stand it any longer.

"Are you sure you should be having that?" his voice calls out to her, causing Sybil to stop halfway from lifting her spoon to her mouth.

She turns and looks at him with confusion.

"Don't you think you've had _enough_ pudding this Christmastide?" he explains, his eyes falling from her chubby hands that grip the spoon, to her full waist that is just visible from his side of the table.

The way her face pales and the clatter of her spoon says enough; he's hit his mark.

There's more than one way to stake his claim. If she's undesirable to others, then no one else will want her.

"I'm sorry," she mutters, lifting her napkin to her lips. "I've lost my appetite."

Bellasis looks up at him, his expression dark. Larry glares back, smirking when the boy lowers his eyes first.

He's won this day.

But little does he know that it's _another_ _Tom_ to whom he will lose to in the future.


	18. The Graduate

_I can't deny, I LOVED reading all your reactions to the last chapter and how much you all couldn't stand Larry ;o) keep in mind that the events of that chapter happened in January of 1911, and now we jump ahead an entire year later. I wanted to touch on something here that for anyone who has ever been bullied in any way I think can relate; it's amazing, isn't it, how bullies can easily forget it seems, the pain they inflict on others? And yet those who are bullied can remember it? You'll see what I mean. Also, I don't know when students who went to Cambridge in 1912 would have graduated (be it after four years or what time of year) so just assume that this is set sometime *before* that ceremony takes place. Thanks again for reading!_

* * *

_**The Graduate  
**__February 1912_

He's spent a bulk of the evening in the billiard room, grateful that none of the other men have followed. He wants solitude to stew with his thoughts. He can't abide hearing his father mutter yet _another_ praise about Patrick, future Earl of Grantham, and soon-to-be Cambridge graduate. Yes, well done Patrick; everyone's golden boy, the apple of Lord Grantham's eye, and the son Larry's father never had but always wish he wanted.

He snorts, and shoots a ball into the corner pocket with a loud snap.

"Patrick?"

He stiffens at the sound of _her_ voice, and quickly straightens his spine and squares his shoulders as he faces the door and sees her peek inside.

"Patrick? Are you—oh! Oh, it's you, Larry…"

He stares at her, his eyes briefly falling from her face down her body.

She's changed. The cursed spots that once littered her face have begun to fade. She still has a fuller figure, but her curves are not off-putting. No…they actually make her look rather…_luscious_. And it cannot be denied, she is rather pretty. _And only fifteen! What will she be like when she makes her debut?_

Indeed; perhaps there's hope for her yet?

"He's not here," he answers, offering her a smile. "I believe he's still in the dining room, with your father and mine."

She nods at this, her face giving him no expression, and then turns to leave. But before she does, he calls out to her. "You look lovely, Sybil!"

She pauses and looks over her shoulder at him. He expects to see her blushing, but is surprised to see her eyes filled with suspicion. "Why? Because I didn't stuff my face with pudding?"

His brow furrows in confusion. What is she talking about? They didn't have pudding at dinner. But she doesn't bother to explain; she turns on her heel, her curls bouncing as she goes.

Minutes later the door opens again, and this time the very person Sybil was looking for enters, looking both tired and irritated.

"Hail the conquering graduate," Larry mutters, lifting his brandy glass in mock salute.

"I should have retreated with you," Patrick groans.

"Is being showered with praises that horrible?"

Patrick rolls his eyes. "I'm hardly the first to graduate."

Larry just drinks his brandy. True, Patrick will not be the _only one_ to graduate from Cambridge this year. But the only celebration he imagines his father throwing is one of relief that he managed to achieve it and not disgrace the Grey name.

"What was that thing your father kept talking about at dinner?"

"What thing?"

"Something about an early graduation gift."

Patrick sighs, turning red, slightly. "He's taking me to New York, in April."

"New York?!" Larry stares at him, unable to hide his jealousy

Patrick nods…and looks a little smug when he adds, "And we'll be traveling on the Titanic!"

Larry is seething, and quickly shoots a ball into the corner pocket, imagining it's Patrick's head. _Lucky bastard._


	19. Transition

_Sorry for the delay in updates! I have been a busy beaver with other fics, but will make sure to get a few more updates in this week :o) Anyway, here is a chapter I know many of you have been eagerly anticipating ;o) that's all I'm going to say. And just a reminder, THIS IS AU, meaning it will not follow the show's timeline with every detail. THANK YOU FOR READING!_

* * *

_**Transition  
**__April 1912_

He's in London, visiting one of his favorite clubs, when he learns what's happened.

"Grey!" someone shouts when he walks in the door. "Have you heard about this?"

The newspaper is thrust in his face and he stares in confusion at the headline, his eyes widening in shock.

_TITANIC SINKS; GREAT LOSS OF LIFE_

The ship that was declared unsinkable is lying at the bottom of the North Atlantic. And hundreds…possibly thousands…are dead.

_Patrick._

No, no, it's not possible, surely! Patrick is a gentleman; the future heir to Downton Abbey! They would not have allowed a gentleman to drown.

But his fears are confirmed when he returns to his family's town house and finds a telegram waiting for him, sent directly from his father.

_Tragic news __**[stop]**__ Patrick Crawley believed dead __**[stop]**__ return to Downton __**[stop]**__ come immediately_

It's not possible. It _can't_ be possible…

But it is.

A million thoughts fly through his head; disbelief, denial, anger, sorrow, even guilt. But eventually they all cumulate to numbness.

Numbness.

That's what he feels when he leaves London that afternoon, when he boards the train and travels to Yorkshire.

He can't believe that this person he's known his entire life is gone. This person whom he has gone to school with, who has gone shooting with, hunting with, who he has played cricket with, who has been is main source of sanity whenever he found himself at Downton Abbey. He can't believe that this person whom he has envied, sometimes despised, sometimes even hated…is gone.

Patrick, whom he realizes now, was quite possibly his only friend in the world.

Patrick is dead; died at sea, alongside hundreds or thousands of others. A gentleman, a scholar, the future Earl of Grantham and the heir to Downton Abbey for God's sake! He's dead! Drowned…alongside the rabble.

Death isn't supposed to happen to people like them. Not now, not when they're only twenty-two. This has to be a mistake! What makes them think he's dead? What proof do they have? No, it's just not meant to be like this!

He grits his teeth as he hears several women behind him wailing as they cry over the headlines of the paper, murmuring something about people they think they knew who were on the ship. He wants to shout at them, to tell them to shut up and take their tears to another car!

Instead, he rises and pushes his way past other passengers, growling at anyone who gets in his way, hoping to find some car where he can sit in peace.

But it's no use. There are sniveling women everywhere. And they're all crying over the same thing.

It's already dark when the train arrives, but he's never been happier to see the Downton station. He exists quickly and looks for the car that will take him to Downton.

"Mr. Grey?"

He's startled by the voice and abruptly turns to see an unfamiliar face.

"Tom Branson; I'm here to take you to Downton."

* * *

_DUN! DUN! DUN! :oP Also, the headline that Larry reads is the actual headline that appeared in the London Herald in 1912._


	20. Comforter

_I know there was a little confusion for some folks in the last chapter in seeing Tom show up. This story is AU, because I really wanted to explore Larry's observation of Sybil and Tom's relationship long before he met Tom as we saw on the show. So that's why I decided to bring Tom's character into the story so "early". Hope that helps clear up any confusion! Thank you again for reading and reviewing! I look forward to what you all think of this chapter... ;o)_

* * *

_**Comforter  
**__April 1912_

He and his family stay with the Crawleys for a week.

For an entire week he endures Lady Grantham's sniveling, Edith's wailing, and Lord Grantham endlessly asking over and over again, "what am I going to do? What is to be done about Downton?" Even Mariah, his own sister, weeps! As if she cared about Patrick…

At least Mary doesn't put on airs and make an unnecessary show of her "grief"; she never loved him.

He happens to overhear her one day, while passing the library, asking if it's necessary for her to go into full mourning. A part of him wants to resent her, to accuse her of having no heart and call her a lying bitch.

But then he remembers that Patrick didn't really love her either, that he was only going to marry her out of duty. And despite her coldness, Larry finds that he appreciates her honesty.

After nearly an entire week of this ceaseless mourning, he is ready to scream and tell all of them to shut up. All Lord Grantham cares about is his precious earldom! None of them knew Patrick—_really_ knew him. If they had, they wouldn't have insisted on this damn union! They would have let him be!

God, how he hates Patrick. He hates feeling this way, being a victim to his own damn emotions. He wonders how he will manage to hold his tongue during the damn funeral.

There really is only one person whose tears he can tolerate. Perhaps it's because she doesn't make a show of her grief like the others? She sits in silence, often in the garden, hands folded on her lap as if clasped together in prayer, and cries by herself.

He envies her. He wishes he could mourn like that. But he doesn't have the courage to let himself go.

His room overlooks the garden, and provides the perfect view. Despite her tears, and how swollen and puffy they make her eyes, he can't deny that she is a beauty.

Yes, that beauty he once saw in her has returned at last, and not yet sixteen. But she always had the body of a woman.

He wonders what it would feel like to hold her, her pretty face pressed against his chest while she cries.

He's tempted; so very tempted to go to the garden and offer her comfort. Perhaps she can provide him with some as well?

But his jaw tightens as he watches another approach her.

The driver.

He knows because of the man's uniform. The man quietly approaches her, his hands clasped firmly behind his back, but he kneels before her and speaks to her…and Larry watches in shock as Sybil suddenly leans forward, wrapping her arms around the chauffeur, and burying her face against his broad shoulder.

Her body shakes as she weeps. And the man's arms move to tenderly hold her, providing her the comfort she seeks.

He was wrong.

She's no different from the others.


	21. Original Prankster

_Thanks for the reviews from the last chapter! I'm glad people were pleased to see two characters bonding together ;o) This one is a bit different, but was written for several purposes: one, to show Edith's coming out ball, and two, to foreshadow Larry's "prankster behavior" when he drugged Tom, as well as a brief conversation he had with Edith in 3x01, hinting that she is in fact aware of this behavior. Hope you enjoy! THANK YOU FOR READING!_

* * *

_**Original Prankster  
**__June 1912_

It's his father's idea. _"Lady Edith needs an escort to her ball! And since you failed in obtaining the Honorable Miss Belmont's hand…"_

Yes, his father loves to bring that up whenever he can. He swears the man's favorite pastime is finding ways to "once again prove" that he's nothing but a disappointment. Not like Patrick Crawley, of course.

No, he's nothing like Patrick.

For one thing, he's alive!

Although he can't help but wonder if in his father's eyes, he'd rather have a dead man for his son.

But despite his bitterness, his agrees; after all, he's convinced it's what Patrick would have wanted. Wasn't he always going on about how Edith wasn't _"that bad"?_

He arrives early, and is sad to learn that Sybil hasn't come to London this season. There will be no opportunities to watch her dancing with invisible partners like she had at Mary's ball. And now that she's sixteen, she wouldn't have had to dance alone; he's certain he could have convinced Lord Grantham to permit one dance.

Instead, he is to dance with a different Crawley sister. And he wouldn't mind it so much if Edith would stop her damn moping! But she can't; she keeps going on and on about how this doesn't seem right, celebrating her entrance into Society…_without_ Patrick there.

Does she realize that Patrick only _tolerated_ her? If he had truly loved her the way Edith seems to believe, he would have fought for her hand and insisted on marrying a different Crawley. But he didn't, he was resigned to do his family's bidding, and take Mary for his bride.

It's tempting to tell her that, to "wake her up" from her grief, but he decides to be kind instead, another way to honor Patrick.

But he needs to do something to get her to STOP sulking!

And that's when it strikes him.

"Edith, do you like games?"

She's confused by his question, but he only grins as his eyes spot an easy target.

"See that footman? The one carrying that tray of champagne?"

Her eyes follow to where he is pointing. The lad is precariously close to where his father is standing.

"Go and speak to my father; distract him," he encourages.

She still looks confused, but is now intrigued and does as he says, greeting Lord Merton in warm politeness, being the perfect decoy as he makes his own move.

He approaches the footman from behind, as if he were going for a glass himself. But what the footman doesn't see is his foot snaking out…and tripping the man.

A shriek goes up in the room as dozens of glasses go flying in the air.

…And their contents splash all over his father.

Lord Merton is sputtering in anger. The footman is begging forgiveness. Everyone else is staring in horror!

But not Edith. Her hands cover her mouth to hide her giggles.

_Two birds, one stone._ He has managed to make Edith smile _and_ extract his revenge.

All in all, it's a good evening.


	22. The Hunt

_Playing around with the timeline here. I don't really know when Pemuk came to visit, I just remember the foxhunt, and for some reason, fox hunting struck me as an "autumn sport", so therefore I am setting this chapter in the autumn. If I'm wrong, ah well, it's AU anyway! _

_This chapter was interesting because there is a *brief* moment where Larry almost shows some decency, where it looks like he might do "the right thing" for once (even if it is for possessive convoluted reasons) however, I think his main problem is that if something doesn't serve a purpose for *himself* or *his* interests, it's not worth his time to meddle. You'll see what I mean. THANKS FOR READING AS ALWAYS!_

* * *

_**The Hunt  
**__October 1912_

It's sometime in early October when he finally meets the new heir.

Matthew Crawley.

A middle class solicitor from Manchester! The fourth earl must be rolling in his grave.

Larry already despises him; he'll never be anything like Patrick. Really, it's an insult to Patrick that Matthew Crawley even exists, let alone has claim to the earldom.

After briefly meeting Mr. Crawley, Larry sees that history is repeating itself.

Just like Patrick, Lord and Lady Grantham are eager to wed him to their eldest. And just like Patrick, Mary doesn't care a fig for him while Edith is doing everything she can to sink her claws into him. She was out with him that very afternoon, apparently; touring churches or something equally as boring.

It's just as well; why ruin a perfectly good hunt with the likes of this "pretender" in their company?

While Lord Grantham's heir was looking at churches, _he_ was enjoying a perfectly good hunt, along with the Crawley's special guests: a Mr. Napier who is an old friend of the family's, and some Turkish fellow that he is hosting.

It was clear from the second the foreigner showed up that Lady Mary's keen hunting senses changed from fox to another sort of prey.

But she isn't the only hunter. It becomes quite obvious during dinner that there are others who have extended the hunt. He watches as all the men make fools of themselves, vying for Mary's attentions, including the lawyer from Manchester. He can't help but find the whole silly display amusing, especially as Mary rebuffs Mr. Napier and Mr. Crawley in favor of the Turk.

While she goes to speak with him about who knows what, Larry watches Sybil rise from her chair and move to where the other two men are, smiling prettily and asking Mr. Crawley what he thought of the churches he toured.

What does _she_ think of the new heir?

Good Lord, she's not…surely, she's not…?

He glances nervously at Edith, who is looking longingly at Mr. Crawley and Larry feels the pit of his stomach roll with dread. Is it really to be just like before? When all the women wanted Patrick? Not that Sybil wanted him, but this is different, she's sixteen now!

…And very, very lovely.

He's not the only one to have noticed either.

Larry watches with a clenched jaw as the Turk smiles at Sybil, his eyes wandering down and admiring her figure. He follows the foreigner when he gets up to leave the room, and when he's sure no one is looking, grabs the man's elbow and lays a threat on him, right there.

"She's mine!" he hisses. "You stay away."

The Turk jerks his arm free and glares back at him before leaving.

He stands guard that night, watching the Turk's door from his own. He follows the foreigner when he takes a late-night stroll to the lady's quarters. He's prepared to fight for Sybil's honor, but if he does, he wants Sybil to see him do it.

But it's not Sybil's room that the Turk invades.

Larry hears Mary's shocked gasp as the man locks the door behind him.

Well…at least that will keep the bastard occupied and away from Sybil.


	23. The Opposite of Grateful

_So I suppose I would call this chapter "pivotal" for this story. It was certainly a big enough deal that I broke my own rule about keeping it around 500 words! Ah well, I think it works in the end, being a tad longer than the others. This chapter takes place immediately following the last. Also, this one does get a little dark, and I will say there's a trigger warning here, so just be aware. Interested to hear what you guys think! Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_**The Opposite of Grateful  
**__October 1912__**  
**__(The Next Day)_

He hasn't even reached the breakfast room before he learns what has happened.

The Turkish fellow is dead.

Larry will never look at Mary Crawley the same way again.

He supposes he should offer Lord Grantham his services, see if there is any way he can help, although he has no idea what he could possibly do. Thankfully Mr. Napier has stepped forward and seems to have everything under control. And why not? The Turk was his responsibility anyway! Let him deal with the mess. So instead of trying to find ways to aid Lord Grantham, he chooses to retreat to the gardens, and see if he can provide a different sort of aid to someone else.

She's not crying like that time he saw her after Patrick died. But she is sitting by herself on a bench under a tree, an open book on her lap but instead of reading it, she's looking off into the distance. And looking very troubled.

He approaches gently and quietly, as he would approach a spooked horse. "Are you alright?" he softly asks.

Sybil gasps and lifts her head, surprised to see him standing there. He offers her a smile, and he can't help but admire the plumpness of her lips.

"I'm fine," she murmurs, turning her head again. "But I'm worried for Mr. Napier; and what this could mean regarding the Albanian talks."

Larry frowns. He has no clue as to what she's talking about.

"Poor Mr. Pemuk…" she sighs.

He snorts at this. The foreigner doesn't deserve her pity. "You didn't even know him," he mutters.

She looks up at him and frowns. "That doesn't matter! How can you be so heartless?"

Heartless?! After what _he did for her_ last night?

Without another word she rises from the bench. "Where are you going?" he calls after her.

"Back inside. Mary was quite upset; I should go and see to her—Oh!"

He didn't mean to startle her by reaching out and grabbing her arm, but he couldn't help himself! She looked so beautiful last night, and all he's been able to think about is her; those sapphire eyes, that glowing skin, those plump lips, not to mention her breasts, oh God, _her breasts!_

"Larry?" she looks up at him, a mixture of confusion and apprehension. She's tugging on her arm, but his grip only tightens.

Without a second thought, he does it; he pulls her to him and bends his head, capturing her mouth.

"MMM!" she whimpers, and he groans. God she tastes divine! His tongue tries to push past her lips—

"STOP IT!" she manages to cry, her hands shoving against his chest so hard, he stumbles backwards.

She's panting, her breasts rising and falling hypnotically. He only realizes then that it's not desire in her eyes…but fear.

And it pains him to see.

He attempts to reach out for her, prepared to apologize, but she darts away from him, just out of his grasp. "Sybil—"

"Is everything alright, milady?"

Larry turns around to see the intruder, frowning as he locks eyes with the chauffeur, the little mick he had seen touching Sybil in this very garden several months ago.

"Yes, Branson, everything is fine," she answers, her eyes on the ground. "In fact, Mr. Grey was just leaving."

Larry stares in disbelief and opens his mouth to say something, but the bloody chauffeur steps in front of him, blocking his view of Sybil!

"Then I'll bring the car around," he answers, his eyes never lowering.

How dare he! The little mick has the audacity to stare back at him!?

…And Larry doesn't like the way he's looking at him; as if he's challenging him.

"Good day, Larry," she dismisses. "I'll give your regards to my family."

Ungrateful bitch. Why if she had any idea—

"Don't bother," he growls, before turning and marching away.

Sybil Crawley and her Irish wolfhound can go straight to hell for all he cares! So help him, he'll never darken Downton Abbey's doors after this humiliation.


	24. Renewed Vigor

_And I'm back! Sorry for the delay! Anyway, I really wanted to explore the idea of what Larry would think if he saw Sybil in a certain outfit. You'll understand when you read it. Also, if it helps, I recommend going back and rereading the last chapter, just to get in the right mind frame for what is happening in this one. Thanks for reading and for all your lovely comments! They are always a pleasure (and sometimes a hoot!) to read!_

* * *

_**Renewed Vigor  
**__August, 1913_

He manages to stay true to his vow. He doesn't darken Downton's doors that New Years, and when the Season comes, he spends as much time at one of his clubs, rather than any ball where he may run into some member of the Crawley family. Not that he's in any fear of running into _her_. He still has one more season; one more season until Sybil Crawley makes her debut.

Not so long ago he had been looking forward to that day. Now, it fills him with dread.

She'll be eligible then, officially "off the shelf", and he has little doubt that there will be others wishing to court her.

His ugly duckling has turned into a swan. Oh if only she could have remained homely for just a little longer. Let her have an unsuccessful debut, like Edith. Then he could sweep in and save her from potential spinsterhood!

But it's not to be, apparently. She is a beauty, and will no doubt be even more beautiful a year from now when she turns eighteen.

Damn her. Why does she consume his thoughts so? Unappreciative chit. Maybe he shouldn't have stopped the foreigner from gawking at her figure? Damn her, and damn himself, too. He still reels with humiliation whenever he thinks about that kiss.

It was her first kiss; that much he could tell.

He was meant to be her teacher in such things, woo her and make her whimper in longing for him. But it all went wrong. And as much as he wants to blame her entirely for what happened, he knows he can't escape his own guilt. Instead of igniting her passions, he frightened her, he—

Wait.

Perhaps that's the answer?

Maybe it's not him. Maybe…_it's her?_

She's afraid of these emotions, these "passionate" feelings…

She's seventeen, trapped somewhere between a girl and a woman. And he is the first man to passionately embrace and kiss her (and by God, if he has his way, the _ONLY_ man). That must be it, surely? She doesn't understand what her body is going through, especially after so many years of being undesirable.

She is awakening, like a flower in the spring bursting forth into full bloom.

He just needs to be tender with her bud, and nurture her as she grows.

He breaks his vow when the time comes for the annual garden party. For the first time in nearly a year, he returns to Downton.

He spots her instantly and stares in shock.

"Is she wearing _trousers?"_ his sister gasps.

"She looks like she belongs in a sultan's harem," his mother mutters.

Indeed, it's the most shocking frock he's ever seen, and it arouses him in a way he never thought possible!

He can see her _LEGS!_ Or rather, he can see that she _has_ legs.

And now all he can think about are the things he wants to do with her legs.

She smiles and laughs and blushes at something someone said. She even does a little twirl, showing off her bizarre frock.

Gone are any angry feelings from the past.

He is more determined than ever to make her his.


	25. Political Unrest

_As much as a I try to keep these chapters no more than 500 words, it's getting to be more and more difficult :oP Ah well! Now we get to explore some familiar moments from S1 through Larry's eyes. Hmmm...how will he react to this bit of news? And how will he handle it in the future? Sorry for the delay! As always, thank you for reading and commenting!_

* * *

_**Political Unrest  
**__May, 1914_

"Oh good heavens!"

His mother's outburst startles him so much that pierces his knife right the toast he was attempting to butter.

"Good God, Mama, what was that all about?" he asks, somewhat annoyed as he attempts to pick up his fallen toast.

"It's Sybil!"

He freezes at the mention of her name.

"She's been hurt!"

His head shoots up at his mother's words, and he stares at her with wide eyes. "Hurt?" he practically gasps the word. No…no, not his sweet Sybil. "What do you mean 'hurt'?"

She's so engrossed in the her letter from Lady Grantham that she hardly pays him any heed, despite the desperation in his voice.

"MAMA!" he practically roars, causing the butler to jump. She looks up at him, shocked that he would speak to her in such a tone. He grits his teeth, mainly as a means to keep him from lashing out further. He needs answers. "What. Do. You. Mean. By. 'Hurt'?" he asks through clipped lips.

Lady Merton looks most displeased by her son's question (more likely his tone than his actual question) but she sighs and puts the letter aside to explain.

"Apparently, our dear Sybil was caught in the midst of some sort of…of riot, if you can believe it," she gasps, looking down at her letter and shaking her head.

"Riot?" How on earth did Sybil get caught in the midst of a riot? Perhaps Lady Grantham is exaggerating; it's just the sort of thing his mother would do.

"Oh gracious," she gasps, reading further. "At a rally," she continues to explain. "It was at a political rally in Ripon; the counting of the votes!"

"What?" he's struggling with understanding that he reaches over and despite his mother's protests, snatches the letter out of her fingers and scans Lady Grantham's elegant handwriting to find his own answers.

…_Several drunk hooligans are to blame…_

…_Thank God Matthew was there to help…_

…_Suffered a head injury; the doctor says she is very lucky…_

He can't believe it; good God in heaven, how…why…?

What on earth was she doing at a political rally in Ripon?

…_Snuck out without our knowledge…_

…_Robert is furious…_

…_Convinced the chauffeur to take her…_

He stops reading and his eyes feel like two hot coals, burning through the paper.

The chauffeur.

The damned chauffeur!

It's _HIS_ fault that Sybil was hurt! And he remembers how that grubby little mick challenged him, refusing to lower his eyes to his superior!

Larry snarls and grinds his teeth together. If he ever sees that Irish bastard again, he'll make him pay for the harm he brought to Sybil!

He quickly reads the rest of the letter, wondering if Lady Grantham will reveal the chauffeur's fate, but nothing is further mentioned about the man. Instead, she goes on to talk about how they are all disappointed in Sybil's deceit and even pondered denying her her season, although that idea was quickly squashed, due to the fact that the invitations for her ball have already been mailed.

Thank God for that.

Still…how could she? How could she be so…so…

_Stupid?_

Right, he thinks, handing the letter back to his irate mother. Well, one thing is for certain.

No more politics.


	26. Some Enchanted Evening

_I know some of you mentioned how eager you were, looking forward to Sybil's season...well here it is! Once again, I couldn't keep it to 500 words (I'm such a bad short-story writer!) but I do love how our girl handles Larry here, and I hope you agree ;o) Thank you all for reading as always, and for your reviews, even if Larry does drive you crazy ;o) :oP_

* * *

_**Some Enchanted Evening  
**__June, 1914_

"I'm only thinking what's best for you!"

"What's best for me!?" she gasps, staring at him with incredulous eyes. "_I_ will decide what's best for me!"

He rolls his eyes. "You're behaving like a silly child."

"NO!" she hisses, shoving her hands against him much to his shock. Has she always been so violent? "_No one_, especially you, Larry Grey, dictates or assumes 'what's best for me'; _I_ decide what is best for me! I and I alone! And what is best for me right now is freeing my presence _FROM YOU!"_

He watches in disbelief as she turns on her heel. Good God, this is hardly how he envisioned the evening going.

Several hours ago he arrived, dressed in his best, eager to be Sybil's first dance partner.

The bloody pretender beat him to it. But no matter; it's quite clear that Matthew Crawley prefers Mary's company, so after one polite dance, cousin to cousin, he's abandoned Sybil to fend for herself amongst the sea of wolves, just salivating at the sight of such a delicious morsel.

Have no fear! He will protect her, and before any of those hounds seize upon her, he's there, bowing and taking her hand in his, kissing it and asking her for the next dance.

She sighs and nods her head. Perhaps if he had been paying closer attention he would have realized something wasn't right.

"Are you enjoying your season?" he asks her as they dance.

"Yes, thank you," she answers simply, not bothering to meet his eyes.

"Are you feeling well?" he asks, his voice still filled with concern.

She looks confused. "Am I feeling well?"

"You suffered a horrible head injury last month."

Her face turns beet read, and she lowers her eyes, looking absolutely mortified.

"It's not your fault," he tries to reassure her.

Her head snaps back up. "I never said it was."

_You're right; it's that damned chauffeur's fault!_ But he holds his tongue; once he starts raging at the little mick, he doubts he'll be able to stop.

"Damn liberals," he mutters.

She goes stiff in his arms. "What?"

He looks down at her, somewhat confused. "Forgive my course language, but…well, such things would never have happened in the company of gentlemen," he mutters. "But what can you expect amongst the rabble—"

"There were plenty of unruly Tories in that crowd too," she interrupts. "They are just as guilty for the fight that took place."

He snorts and rolls his eyes. She wrestles herself free from his embrace.

"Do not dismiss my opinion like that!"

"Dismiss your opinion?" he looks at her in confusion. "Sybil…" he takes her by the arm and practically pulls her to the balcony just outside the ballroom where they can have some privacy. "I am only speaking out of concern," he tries to explain.

"Well don't," she huffs. "You're not my father, my brother, or my beau, so there's no need."

Her words hurt, but he stands his ground. "But I am your friend; and as such, I think it is in your best interests that you refrain from politics, as it clearly is far too dangerous—"

"I _like_ politics!" she retorts. "I _am_ political! I canvassed for women's rights before the bi-election—"

"Good God, Sybil, do you know how dangerous that is? Are you mad!?"

She's growling at him. "Clearly," she mutters, and tries to push past him.

Why is she so angry? What's wrong with her? "I'm only thinking what's best for you!" And here they are.

Indeed, this is not how he envisioned the night going. He was going win her heart; he was going to woo her, sweep her off her feet, kiss her again, only this time she would want it.

But how can those things happen with her walking away!? Damn it, Sybil!

He wants to grab her. Pull her back, shake her shoulders, make her see reason.

But she's already claimed another dance partner before he can. So instead he spends the rest of her ball seething behind a potted plant, glaring at each and every man she dances with, and plotting ahead for the future.

She will be his.


End file.
